


Do You Take Elijah Mikaelson To Be Your Husband....

by InsideTH3fire23



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Magic, Passion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsideTH3fire23/pseuds/InsideTH3fire23
Summary: All he wants is love.
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Klaus Mikaelson/Stefan Salvatore, Elijah Mikaelson/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Circe Naomi Mikaelson was officially dead at 1:03 am. 

There was a small funeral held for the wife of Elijah Mikaelson, the coffin a dark stained scarlet and perfectly polished with a soft cushion and a silky lining. 

A week later, when Elijah accepted that this had been a wound too many (something he would never recover from) and was walking down the muddy side of the river, hands in his pockets as he breathed in nature, she appeared. 

Circe wore a mischievous smile, “You're not concerned about what this means?”

Elijah stopped causing Circe to stop as well, and the Original stared at how lovely Circe looked, with her eyes reflecting the sky and void of pain, her lips smiling, her curls wild and swaying in the wind. She is not perfect, and therein lies the intoxication; she is a witch but still a human woman, in every way. But she is the finest of human women. She will be a legend in every way, Elijah will see to it, personally.

He wants to taste her, to worship her; wants the world to burn in Circe’s beauty and love. 

“It means,” he spoke, taking no consideration about his words, “that everything I am ended with you.”

Circe huffed out a breath that could very well been a laugh. When Elijah did not laugh with her, Circe’s eyes softened. She came closer, close enough that their breaths would have touched had Circe had any breath at all. “You will come together again.”

“How can I? You’re dead.”

“But you aren’t.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he murmured in response. 

And then it happened. 

“...Oh,” Elijah gushed out, unable to stop the tremor in his voice. After all the carnage he had seen over the years- most done by his own hand- he could not look at this. He could not look at Circe like this. “No, no, no. This is wrong,” he looked down at his hands, watching them tremble. 

No longer was his beautiful rose dappled in sunlight, now stood a dead body, her milky irises peeking under her half closed lids. 

He let out a feral scream as he felt the world crack and shatter, taking Circe with it. He gripped his head as he continued to weep, damning his tears and bleeding heart. He tore at anything he saw, tearing apart the nature around him as his soul burned inside of him. 

He dreamed of Circe, most nights. 

Sometimes they were good dreams, like lying in bed, twisting her hair around his fingers, or preparing a meal while Circe sat on the other side of the island and watched. They were so real, so true, that sometimes he woke feeling as if she were just inches away.

Other dreams were hard. There were nights he could feel her dying. Could feel her shuddering in his arms, and breathing blood, could feel her suffering. 

The years go on, because they never stop even when Elijah wants them to, and the wound never heals. He had never loved the way he loved Circe, she ruined him for anyone else and changed him entirely through her death. 

He expects never to feel happiness again


	2. Chapter 2

The town of Mystic Falls, as of the last census has a population just over two-thousand people. It is a quiet, homely place- the kind of place where people who are born there rarely end up anywhere else, or they leave as soon as they have the means to.

Circe hated it. 

She hated everything about small towns and only came for the funeral of Shelia Bennett. 

Her sister Lucy claimed she had no reason to actually attend but something was nagging in Circe's consciousness, a disturbance that refused to abate until Circe gave in. Of course she didn't tell Lucy that, they weren't those kind of siblings. 

She sat in the back, mostly hidden. 

"Good afternoon. For those of you who don't know me I'm Bonnie Bennett, Shelia's grand-daughter," She had looked down at her notes then. "My Grams was a good person. She was loving, and attentive and was the best friend a person could have."

Circe smiled sadly though it hurt to do so. 

She didn't know Bonnie, even though Circe herself was only a couple years older than her. Bennett's never really tend to stick around each other long. 

Abandonment was a common theme in their lives. 

Bonnie's eyes moved over the crowd pausing on Circe herself. When she spoke again there was something, disheveled about her tone.The distant Bennett studied her face, trying to tease out what it was that caused her discomfort. There was fear beating timidly in her chest, but when she met Circe's eyes she smiled timidly. It was a brittle thing. 

Ah, the cause of Bonnie's fear was her. 

Circe was aware her aura was not the pleasant light brush of power that most witches carried. 

It was neither predator nor prey, simply omnipresent and overwhelming. Cold to most, but comforting to Circe herself. 

Death. 

Circe was positive that an X-ray of her chest would reveal her dead soul crushed between her ribs and a pulsing heart and gasping lungs, and tucked inside she was sure there was a blur of pure darkness. She was sure she could feel it sometimes and had developed the nervous habit of moving her hand to the center of her chest to see if she could feel it and shift it around to ease her discomfort. She knew the darkness was just a metaphor for what was wrong with her. She didn’t linger for long on the thought of “metaphors” though – it meant too much and nothing at all.

"Hello."

In Circe's self analysis, she lost view of the physical world around her. Standing carefully, she inclines her head. "Hello."

The younger Bennett fingers clench and unclench. "Were you a student of my grandmother?"

Bonnie couldn't stop moving, her foot tapping impatiently. She needed movement and purpose- rebelling against the stagnation that seemed to pour out of the earthy hazel eyes of the girl before her. It wasn't that she felt cold the way vampires did, no it was less biting yet more consuming. 

The teenager tries to find some comparison in the way she moves, but the girl betrays nothing. 

"No," Circe gets a thoughtful look to her eyes, pensive almost. "I'm a distant relative."

"Oh."

Bonnie looks at her with new eyes. 

She's extraordinarily beautiful. When Bonnie was young and first heard the story of Helen from Troy she could never imagine someone so beautiful wars would wage for them, but now, she could imagine this girl before her being able to compete with both Helen and Aphrodite. 

In the curve of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips, Bonnie finds a resemblance. 

"How did she pass?"

At this Bonnie pauses. 

In fairness to the strange girl before her, she looked soft and lovely, and yet that feeling would not recede. It made Bonnie want to simultaneously come closer and back away as fast as possible. 

"Uhm, she was fairly old-"

"Magical exhaustion seems more likely," those eyes pierce through Bonnie. 

"You're a witch," Bonnie whispers. 

"Yes," and she says so with a quiet sort of power, if as merciless as Bonnie expects of someone with great power and horribly greedy, but there's something more. Something untouched. 

Beyond that Bonnie aches. She aches to tell this girl everything. 

To pour her pain onto something, anyone who was closer to understanding it than anyone else would have been. Circe as if reading her mind, reaches forward and touches her hand. 

For a moment nothing existed except the glory of darkness and power before her. Something hurt, and Bonnie realized her lungs screamed for air. Her power was the painful sharp ripple of sunlight on a lake. _Family_ , that thing inside of her screams. It is energy full of languid melodies twisted with dynamic slides between suspense and vibrancy.

"You're mad at me," Circe says quietly, allowing Bonnie to cling to her, even when her grip turns harsher. 

"I just-" Bonnie blinks and only then does she realize tears have spilled there way down her cheeks. "Nevermind."

"Don't hold back whatever you are thinking on my account."

Bonnie looks at her with a considering frown. "I just, why didn't you ever come until now? Did we not matter?"

Circe looks away, not hiding, just thinking. "I…." She hesitates, "I didn't think I would be welcomed. Abigail Bennett held little love for me...and it was painful being around Shelia-" she halts immediately, realizing the enormity of what she's allowed to slip out. 

"You knew my mother?" Bonnie's voice cracks and the tears she desperately tried to limit are now drowning her face. 

Circe purses her lips and looks around, seeing few people left in attendance. 

"We should talk more elsewhere," Circe rubs some warmth back into the coolness of Bonnie's hand. "Let's exchange contact information and addresses and give ourselves a few hours to calm down. I'll be more than willing to answer any questions you have if you will do the same for me."

Bonnie stared at the girl before her. 

A likened spirit. A survivor. 

It was obvious when you knew where to look, what you were looking for. Looking at. Still that was all Bonnie could pull, the girl shows no sign of tipping her hand toward becoming anything she can understand; she is honest, if only just. 

"What's your name?" Bonnie asks. 

The girl doesn't smile again, and this seems more true to herself. "Circe Bennett."

"Named after one of the goddesses of magic," Bonnie finds the name fitting, the enchantress goddess surrounded by a sea, banished. 

"No not her," says Circe her voice near reverent. "A different legend entirely."

* * *

Circe is back at the cemetery.

In a few hours she will have to meet Bonnie, but until then she has time.

She slips further into herself, feeling the coldness of death lay on her, wrap around her limbs. It should feel uncomfortable but Circe is only soothed. 

The cemetery's maintenance crew will come along to lower the casket into the vault, and cover it with dirt. But for now, the casket and the woman in it sit atop the grave. 

Bending over, Circe coats both hands in the earth. There's a persistent inquisitiveness, a hunger for something more elemental than grass and root. She digs deeper, she can feel nature swell, and what is more natural than death, for that crawls to Circe's hands as well. Allowing her to roll it like beads between her fingers. 

Taking in a breath, and with it life, Circe allows both magics to meet and find a balance inside of her. 

Standing slowly, keeping her eyes shut, Circe opens the lid of the coffin. 

She doesn't open her eyes, doesn't need to. Her second sight fills in the picture before her of Shelia. Her hands are joined over her chest and a rosary is wound through her fingers. Her skin holds a waxy, unnatural pallor of the recently deceased after being worked over by a mortician. Nevertheless, the mortician did a good job, especially since it seems like Shelia is just sleeping.

"You won't like what I'm about to do," Circe mutters quietly, mournfully. 

She touches Sheila's hand. 

It doesn't take long. It's there, crackling beneath her skin and in her eyes. It's thrilling and terrifying, and the only time she ever feels like herself. Circe's breath leaves her in a shaky hiss as the power she's called forth so quickly and suddenly leaves her, flowing into the corpse she touches.

Almost as if the breath itself has been repurposed, Shelia sucks in air in a sharp, painful-sounding wheeze, opens her eyes, and promptly begins to scream.

"Shelia," Circe says, dropping her hand to touch the dead woman's shoulder, which only serves to cause milky-white eyes to dart her way, and turn the screams in her direction.

"Shelia," she tries again, shouting to be heard over the recently revived Shelia Bennett's wailing.

"Circe?" The woman mumbles her eyes glassy, dead.

"I need to know what happened, Shelia?" Circe asks quietly, mildly surprised that the older witch even remembered her. 

"You've been gone for so long-"

"I know," Circe mutters through the painful tightening of her chest, and the shooting pain down her arm. She's used to that, though; feeling whatever the corpse was feeling in the moment that they died, but knowing it's a phantom pain doesn't make it any easier to bear.

"Where is your sister?"

The question burns, and cuts, and drags through her. It's just another thing Circe doesn't talk about. 

"Shelia, you died and I need to know what happened-"

Shelia shakes and shivers. "I'm dead?"

"I'm sorry but yes. I need to know what happened," Circe tries to keep her voice delicate, soft, but necromancy isn't extendable. It is merely reanimation, not another chance at life.

"Bonnie needed me to open the tomb...I wasn't as strong as I once was."

"You did everything you could," Circe tries absently to soothe, while her thoughts spiral outwards. 

"My everything wasn't as good as it once was." The young Bennett doesn't argue that point. "The legendary Circe Mikaelson," Shelia mutters absentmindedly. 

"I'm not her," Circe sighs lowly. 

Her lips curve downward, the milky white of her eyes flying to Circe. "Maybe not entirely." The older witch let's out a broken sound. "My poor sweet Bonnie, she's probably in so much pain."

Bending closer, "Why did Bonnie need you to open the tomb?"

"The Salvatore brothers," Shelia snarls, her lip curving menacingly. 

"Katherine Pierce's toys?"

"She wasn't in the tomb."

Oh. 

Circe let's out a hysterical laugh. She doesn't mean to, but she let's go of Shelia. Let's go of the tether that holds her in their current plane of existence, hardly hearing it as she falls back into her silk-lined resting place with a heavy thwump, once again as dead as she was when Circe arrived.

She thinks of Katherine. 

The first time Circe had met her to be exact. 

The way Katherine had stopped and stared at her and flinched when Circe said her name. 

The way she was afraid of Circe. 

Carefully she closes the lid of the casket and begins to walk away, twisting her ring around the chain that hung on her neck. The dirt smudged the sides of it but Circe was too within her own mind to care. She had no desire to get involved in any battles (which always follow the tracks of Katherine Pierce) and didn't understand why her magic pulled her to Mystic Falls and was so adamant she stayed. 

Rubbing her hand over that dark smudge inside, Circe goes to hotel room she rented and tries to wash some of the death off of her. 

It doesn't work. 

She can tell it doesn't, when she arrives at Bonnie's home, and the young witch opens the door, and for a second Bonnie looks horrified. 

And just as quickly as it is there it washes away, it is replaced with something Circe finds repulsive: pity. It's an emotion built on the bedrock of assumed superiority. A luxury of those approved by society's standards. It's insulting. Biting back her initial violent temptation, Circe eases forward through the door. Seeing as no verbal invitation was offered. 

Walking towards the dining room, Circe's eyes get caught on a picture of three girls, obviously best friends if the way they cling to each other is any indicator. 

She makes sure her face shows no reaction upon seeing the carbon copy of Katherine Pierce. 

_Doppelganger._

Circe has no love for Doppelgangers. They are a harbinger of bad luck. Ruin follows them and those closest to them. 

The dining room is already set with some sort of pasta sitting in the middle, it's admittedly basic, but much better than Circe herself could do and probably tasted wonderful. They take their time sitting down and preparing themselves mentally, Circe is tactile enough to wait for Bonnie to begin rather than pushing any conversation.

"How do you know my mother?"

Circe tilts her head and her face doesn't change. "I met her when I was a child." She is silent and still, her ear up towards the air, a wolf listening for the howl of it's pack. "She found me repulsive."

Her voice is the definition of nonchalance, so much so, Bonnie is left wondering if that really did hurt her more than Circe is letting on. 

"I'm sor-"

"Don't apologize," Circe waves her hand as if sending any pain away. "Most witches do."

Bonnie can't help but flounder a little, and Circe watches with an amused quirk to her lips. 

"Are- is- I…" Bonnie sucks in a breath to steady herself. "Are you staying in Mystic Falls for a while?" She tries to sound unconcerned, as if Circe just up and leaving doesn't bother her either way, and yet Circe's eyes soften a fraction. 

Bonnie knows without a doubt she can survive being lonely, there are after all worse affiliations, but that doesn't make it seem any less brutal.

"I'll stay if you need me to," Circe finally says simply. "I don't have any obligations elsewhere." 

Bonnie can't help but doubt Circe having obligations to anyone much less a place. Drinking her water and swallowing down just to ease the dryness in her throat, Bonnie finds herself stuck. She had all these questions but they seemed to have suddenly abandoned her. 

Circe seems to take pity on her. 

"Can you tell me the details surrounding-" she pauses, trying to phrase the next coming words delicately. "- our Grandmother's passing?"

No sooner than the words are out of her mouth is Bonnie telling everything she knows. 

Her words are anchored with pain, betrayal- and the dark part of Circe wonders if she can prod that enough to manipulate Bonnie into distancing herself from the doppelganger. She let's Bonnie pour it all offering only slight interruptions in the form of dry comments. (Such as when Bonnie begins talking about Damon's and Stefan's subsequent obsession with Elena, Circe had snorted out a laugh and muttered "how horribly predictable of them." And then rolled her eyes and said, "they should work on their self-esteem if they are willing to let themselves be steamrolled again" Bonnie hadn't laughed but her lips did curve into a momentary smile.) 

By the time she is finished, she is shaking and tears are once again falling down her face. Bonnie desperately hopes Circe doesn't find her as pathetic as she feels. 

"Bonnie, where is your father? Who takes care of you?"

The words transport Bonnie back. 

There was a time when Bonnie had been younger that her father had lost her in a store. She didn't blame him for losing her then, much like one loses something they're fond of. She could remember the distinct lack of panic as she looked around the busy building and walked down aisle after aisle, searching. When she finally made it to the electronic section, she stood in the middle of the aisle and there was a flash of light as the fluorescents above her went out.

She stood there, left in stagnant, tepid darkness and when standing became too tiresome she took off her coat, laid it out on the floor and sat down.

And so that's what life became. She was nothing more than a leaf in the wind- unnoticed, undisturbed, and gone within the next second.

"My dad," Bonnie began, feeling the words claw their way out," he is going to be gone for a while."

Something flashes in Circe's eyes, her anger making them darken, an almost inky veil of blood clouding her gaze.

"He's busy," she tires to explain even though the words come out all wrong.

"He's absent."

Bonnie smiled, a sick parody of any real happiness. It wasn't a good fake smile because she didn't look friendly; she looked like she was going to throw up.

"How old are you Bonnie?"

"Oh, I'm sixteen."

Circe's brow furrows. "You're a child." She sounds slightly awed as if she had placed Bonnie to be older. Something hard, steel-like, tightens her expression. "I'm not going anywhere."

Bonnie lets out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding in so tightly. 

Her hand pawed, fumbled, and found Circe's. Her grip was tight, and the other witch's bones creaked under the pressure, but she couldn't bring herself to let go. She squeezed back, shaking. 

That same night, Bonnie helps Circe move into the guest room. 

* * *

Circe is a quiet personality, unobtrusive, thoughtful, and severe.

It takes a while for Bonnie to breathe easily in her presence and even then it is difficult sometimes.

Coming home after school, Bonnie immediately goes out to the backyard. Circe is always out there, with a book, relaxed and calm. She's big on nature- not gardens, or other cultivated things, but wild places, where the trees grow as tall as houses.

Sometimes she had bulky tomes, medical journals that Bonnie couldn't really understand a word of, textbooks that no one ever really read for pleasure, religious scriptures, and whimsical poetry when she was feeling indulgent. (All which Bonnie had no idea how Circe got her hands on).

When she sees Bonnie, she taps the grass beside her. "Come lie with me," she ushers lightly.

Bonnie immediately eases into that spot.

The younger Bennett can't explain it but it feels nice, having someone to come home to. Even in the rules Circe wastes no time enforcing, the ones that means Bonnie has to tell her where she is going and when, is genuinely worried when Bonnie doesn't arrive at home at her usual time. Someone who cares enough to check in. Someone who buys things for Bonnie that are a little odd but all around sweet. Someone who helps her do her homework (and then gets frustrated with any math sent her way).

Circe even takes it upon herself to introduce Bonnie to luxury. Bonnie hadn't noticed at first but Circe was always draped in finery. Soft delicate silk, beautiful satins, lovely velvets. Every piece of attire she owned, including jewelry, were custom made pieces. She effortlessly extended that to Bonnie. Taking her to stores to get tailored clothing, and hair salons to make her hair shine better than it ever had before. 

When Bonnie had asked where Circe got all this money, the other witch hummed thoughtfully. 

"In the supernatural world, officially I'm considered something of a collector."

"And unofficially."

At that Circe smirked as if Bonnie had done something unexpectedly smart. "Unofficially I'm the person people go to when they don't want things traced back to them."

Bonnie had found that somewhat ominous and wanted to push but knew it would be no use. Circe didn't give any information out that she didn't want to. 

Like a small duckling, Bonnie attaches to Circe. 

She attaches to her attention. 

To her wisdom in magic. 

Even to the odd practices she makes Bonnie participate in, like obscure Witch holidays. 

"How was school today?" Circe asks quietly. She sets her book to the side and effortlessly translates all of her attention towards Bonnie. 

That action alone makes Bonnie feel loved. "Boring," Looking at the clouds, she sighs. "Although-"

"Yes," Circe questions at Bonnie's hesitance. 

"Katherine is in Mystic Falls."

Circe bites her lip, contemplative. "I take it she's looking for something?"

"The moonstone."

"Ah," Circe mutters quietly. She rolls her fingers together and then pulls at the necklace that always hangs off her neck. The one with the ring on it. "I want you to avoid Katherine."

Bonnie frowns. "Do you know her?"

"Not really," Circe says quietly. "But I know what she is capable of. She can be ruthless when it comes to her own survival. Our paths have not crossed in such a way that would require me to remove her- if she hurts you however, she wouldn't have to worry about the other people who want her head. I'm rather impatient and would waste no time playing hide and seek with her."

Ice is reserved in her voice, and Bonnie wonders where she got it from. That resentment- that coldness. 

"I think Damon and Stefan want to kill her."

Circe raises a brow. "Then that's their prerogative."

"Would you help them?"

Circe let's her eyes go back to the sky. 

"I don't enjoy getting my hands wet with blood. Damon's bitterness at her lack of love for him is not enough."

"What about Elena?"

If anything Circe suddenly looks more bored. "I'm sorry, but that isn't enough."

Bonnie suddenly looks coolly at Circe, not quite upset but certainly not happy. "Why do you hate her so much?"

"I've never met her," Circe corrects. "It's impossible for me to know if I like her or not. But what I do have is an objective view. Doppelgangers tend to live in a bubble, where responsibility and pain tend to slide off and onto those surrounding them." Circe closes her eyes. "Truthfully the only person I care about is you. Everyone else can burn for all I care."

Bonnie wrinkles her nose, and Circe can see the thoughts perfectly on her pretty face.  _ What does this woman know? How could she knows what it feels like to just want all of your friends to be safe? She's never been split in two like that.  _ It is plain in her emerald eyes and golden brown skin. 

Circe thinks it is the pity of youth, to always repeat the mistakes of those before them. 

"They have a plan and I'm going to help them."

Bonnie looks ready to argue that point, to fight Circe should she tell her otherwise. 

Circe sighs loudly, audibly. "Of course you are," she mutters something under her breath. "Tell me this plan?"

"Well, every year in Mystic Falls we have a masquerade ball…."


	3. Chapter 3

Truthfully, Circe loves dressing up. 

The night before the party she drags Bonnie out. They spend the day being pampered and massaged, until they glow with inner healthiness. 

The dress she forces Bonnie into is lovely. 

A deep honey gold, tailored with folds that give the illusion of a smaller waist and wider hips. Loose at the top to compensate for her breasts, and tight at the bottom to accentuate her thighs. She glows as well, due to the glitter body oil Circe had insisted she needed. 

She is lovely. 

Her lips a deep red, her lashes thick. Her hair glossy and smooth, with earrings that hang tastefully down the younger Bennett's neck. 

Circe herself chose a more mature design. The dress she wears is cream white, gold lines it's edges, and it clings to her curves like water would. Her body itself is fuller than Bonnie's is, an hourglass figure that Bonnie hopes herself will grow into. 

Bonnie is truthfully, unsure, of this. 

Not so much of the plan, much more of how the others will take Circe, the possessive side of the younger Bennett doesn't even want her to be seen by anyone else. Lest they try and steal her away. 

And so Circe hesitates simply because Bonnie does. 

"Bonnie," she begins quietly. And that draws Bonnie's eyes to her. "What's wrong?"

The teenage girl simply stares back and makes the face she does when she isn't sure how to articulate her feelings. "Nothing," she settles on. 

Bonnie knows it's stupid to lie to her. Circe knows Bonnie. She knows Bonnie like she knows the sun and the stars, the secrets of magic and the undoing of it.

But even still Circe nods.

The party hasn't truly started when they arrive, and it takes no effort to find Stefan and Damon among the crowd. 

Bonnie makes her way towards them with Circe hovering about like a shadow. Her steps so light that only her aura let's Bonnie know she is still following. 

"Hey," Bonnie says to the Salvatore men and she watches as both their eyes immediately are drawn to Circe and her. 

It's odd really. 

She never thought Damon or Stefan were truly capable of seeing beyond Elena, even for a second, but in the corner of their eyes, she sees lust. 

"I don't believe we've met before," Damon says, something sensual tugging at his lips, his piercing blue eyes trying to see through Circe. 

Circe doesn't shy away from eye contact or even lower her chin the slightest bit. She is unmoved by Damon entirely. "Should we rectify that error then?"

He offers his hand, and in his eyes lie a sheer animal desire. 

"Damon Salvatore."

Circe slides her hand into his. 

"Circe Bennett."

Letting her head fall to the side she eyes the other Salvatore. "Then you must be Stefan, I presume."

"You would be correct."

She was a picture of aloof elegance as she glided forward, letting her power overcome the air. "I sympathize with your want to get revenge on Katherine," she says so calmly. "I won't be forgiving if anything happens to my cousin."

There is a threat in those words of her, beautiful wrapped but just as sharp and deadly. 

After that, they spend little to no time with the Salvatores. Instead Circe makes her way to get some drinks while Bonnie sets up perimeters. It all seems to happen so fast then, as if time just sped through until stalling at the moment Elena ( the girl who isn't even supposed to be here) bent over in pain. 

Bonnie is on her knees immediately and Circe...Circe is tense because of something else entirely. 

"Bonnie," Circe murmurs quietly. "There's another Bennett here."

Bonnie's eyes widen even further if possible and she looks stuck. As if being pulled into two separate orbits, each one with a gravity strong enough to shatter her. 

"I'll handle it," Circe says, and there's something angry in those eyes of hers. "You stay with your friend."

And then she is off, following the trail of her darling older sister. 

* * *

It doesn't take long to find her, and Circe isn't surprised. Lucy had always been so decisive. She looks resplendent, all refined grace, so obvious in her intent. Circe is silently amused. Katherine is bold, but even she hides behind Lucy Bennett. 

"Stop the spell," Circe says plainly. 

"And why would I do that?" Lucy asks and it is more out of stubbornness than anything else. "I'm being paid quite well."

"You'll find money elsewhere too-" Circe purses her lips. "Stop, now." There is a long held bitterness in Circe, and Lucy has never been one to travel that storm. Death does not compromise and it never backs down. 

"I-"

"If you don't I'll be forced to break the spell myself." Circe looks down at her nails, painted in a pinky mauve. 

There's something of a chill in the air. "Do you wish for me to kill my own benefactor?"

“You can stand by while Damon and Stefan do it if you wish. Nothing new for you to be an accomplice to murder, is it?” Circe smiles with pre-eternal grace, and Lucy feels a chill that radiates throughout her entire being. Circe, like her father, does not and will not forgive. “I mean you were willing to stand by while father and mother tried to kill me-"

“Enough,” Lucy tells her younger sister; she is mad now, eyes the color of Circe's but harder. Full of anger that she wields like a weapon against anyone. “I will stop the spell but nothing more."

Circe shrugs her shoulders, her pretty hair sliding off of them. "By all means."

She turns to go when Lucy's voice stops her. "You can't blame me for our parents."

At this Circe laughs. 

But her eyes, her eyes are viscous and Lucy tries not to back away or flinch. 

Her sister's naked fury is hard to deal with. 

"No our parents faults are their own," Circe rushes closer and Lucy stands her ground. She won't cower from her baby sister. Not now. Not ever. "But you telling them I belonged to Elijah Mikaelson certainly influenced their decision."

"That's because you do," Lucy hissed back. 

"I'm not her!" Circe snaps and all the glass in the room shatters at her rush of anger. 

"Oh but you are, Circe," Lucy says calmly. "You're his little flower." 

Frustration pours off of Circe in waves. All she's ever wanted was to be her own person. Make her own decisions. Constantly people have tried to strip them from her. 

"I understand if you're afraid," Lucy continues. "You know, they said Elijah Mikaelson used to be honorable. His cruelty held with purpose. That the death of his wife left him ruthless. Worse than even Klaus Mikaelson."

"I wouldn't know seeing as I don't remember-"

"Don't start lying now Circe." Lucy stands taller. "You may not have the memories but you know. Just as you know his favorite color is the color of your eyes. Just as you know he used to spend quiet afternoons with you playing on the piano contemporaries that he wrote for you. Just as you know you used to dream of him every night." Lucy laughs then. "When you were younger you used to come to my room and tell me everything."

"I wonder why that changed."

Lucy shook her head. "It must be exhausting for you, little flower." Lucy's grating voice is a direct contrast to the sweetness she's heard in her dreams. 

"The only exhausting thing is you."

"All I've tried to do is be there for you."

"It's impressive," Circe says, and waits for Lucy's arched brow to continue. "The genuine timbre of self-righteous hurt you manage. Then again, you've always been able to tell your lies so well."

She doesn't stick around much longer. 

Lucy and her just aren't the kind of siblings who can manage that. 

There are too many hurts between them. 

Too many wounds that refuse to heal. 

She practically runs away as far away from the party she could manage, trying and failing at fighting the tears that burned her eyes. Circe doesn't know how to heal her relationship with her sister, doesn't confidently know if she even wants to. 

She pulls her phone out and intends to send Bonnie a message, something truthful. She's trying that with Bonnie. Being truthful. 

Circe: _The other Bennett was my sister. The conversation didn't go well._

She doesn't know how she spends pacing back and forth trying desperately to purge the words Lucy said from her mind. 

A man approaches her even though Circe is certain not a damn thing about her seems approachable in the slightest. He looks awed, hopeful almost. 

"Circe," he whispers quietly. 

This causes her defenses to fly up. A vampire. Older than the Salvatore's, but not unbeatable. 

"Yes," she murmurs quietly. 

"I-" he stares at her like she is his savior. "My name is Trevor."

"Hello, Trevor," Circe crosses her arms. "Can I help you?"

"I think you are the only one who can."

"Look, I think you have me confused-"

"No," Trevor says. "You're everywhere. Elijah made sure of it."

Circe lets out a heavy sigh and shifts into a classic defensive stance, keeping the vampire in her line of sight. "I'm not her," Circe says flatly, and the denial seems fake to her own ears. 

Trevor looks frustrated and reaches for her but immediately stops. "He's going to kill me. I don't want to die."

"I-"

"Please," The words break out of him with so much force it is like they are shouted. "I can't touch you. He'll kill me if I do. You have to come on your own free will."

Circe is not a bleeding heart, neither would she ever sacrifice her freedom for anyone else's, but perhaps, perhaps it is time she faces Elijah Mikaelson. 

She sighs deeply. "Let me send out a text so no one thinks I've been kidnapped."

* * *

Trevor is adamant in his decision not to touch Circe. If she shifts too close he'll immediately back away, fearful that Elijah will somehow be able to tell if he did such a thing. He did however tell her why he achieved Elijah's anger. Another man to fall into the trap of a doppelganger and carry their burden. 

He takes her to an abandoned farm house, it was once lovely surrounded by acres and acres of land, but time had withered its beauty. 

When Rose first sees her, the woman's eyes water. 

She doesn't have Trevor's fear and immediately enters Circe's personal space. "Will you pardon us."

Circe huffs out a laugh. "I think you two are overestimating my importance."

"No," Rose immediately denies. "We aren't."

They look at her like she is royalty. It's odd. Most of the others who have pegged her as Elijah's consider her with strictly fear. These are the first to seem, reverent of her position. 

Truthfully, Circe isn't sure how to take that. 

"I will do everything I can to keep him from killing you both," she pauses. Wondering how she could even begin to manage such a feat. It wasn't like the Mikaelson was a dog she could say no to and be sure he would stop. 

Trevor and Rose though both look so goddamn hopeful, proud, accomplished almost. 

"If you do this for us," Trevor begins his voice suddenly cracking. "We will be in your debt."

"We'll have to see if I am even capable of stalling him."

Now all they are left to do is wait. 

It is torture to Circe's mental space. Causes her to tense and feel all around uncomfortable. As much as she may not want it to be true, Circe is aware the likelihood of her actually being Elijah's wife reincarnated is high. It makes sense of all the dreams she had of a man with dark eyes that burned warm only when seeing her, it does. It's just- Circe doubts she'll be what he wants. Doubts she's even remotely similar to that girl he loved with all of his being. 

It takes hours. 

And to help pass the time Circe, Rose and Trevor started a game of Uno. Circe is about five seconds away from winning when Rose and Trevor freeze. 

"He's here."

The two of them look utterly terrified and Circe can't promise she looks any better. 

"Who's going to get the door?"

They both stare meaningfully at her and she immediately shakes her head so hard her hair hits the side of her cheeks. "Absolutely not."

"But-"

"One of you will," Circe nearly pleads. "Please I can hardly breathe right now much less talk-"

"Okay, okay," Rose says standing. Rolling her shoulders to warm herself up. "I'll do it. You two just wait here."

Once Rose is out of the door Circe is pacing around the room, what the fuck was she thinking? Honestly? Elijah will take one look at her and know. He'll feel the death that pours off her skin and be disgusted. 

He'll-

"Circe."

Her name has never been said like that before. 

A prayer, honest in a way that makes Circe flinch. The man before her stills, and she chokes on her emotions. 

"What," Elijah begins sharply, the cutting darkness of his eyes reaching into her chest and squeezing her heart. "Is the meaning of this?"

He drew closer then, shoes whispering across the wooden floors. His shrewd eyes focused as to not miss anything. His posture is strong, he is...different, than she expected. His hair is tamed; shorter, his clothing too: he's shed the suits and donned a deep red linen that reminds Circe of blood, buttons undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. All of him is polished down to his patent leather shoes. 

Trevor and Rose's hackles rise as he approaches Circe but he pays them no mind, all but glowing with the force of his raw darkness, the undiluted power weaponized. 

He is a wildfire set upon the world. 

"My name is Circe-"

"No," Elijah spat out, almost manic."How dare you."

A rush of offense pools in her chest. "How dare I what?" She snaps before she can think better of it. 

A hand is around her throat before she can process it and her back is slammed into the wall knocking the air out of her. 

"My wife is not a chest piece to be used against me." His grip tightens cutting off the flow of air completely. "I don't know who you are but you will die here for daring to tarnish my wife's face and name."

She claws desperately at his hands but it doesn't make him loosen his grip in the slightest. 

She claws and claws and claws but all it gets her is black spots cutting off her vision. "Please," she gasps. 

Something makes him stop. 

He just let's go. 

His eyes lowered to her breasts. 

No not her breasts, her necklace. Her ring. 

"Where did you get this?" His voice is quiet but the force behind it makes it feel as though it was shouted. 

"I've always had it...I don't know-" her voice comes out ragged and weak and Elijah reaches for the ring. 

He looks gutted when he gets his hands around the ring. He looks ruined, beaten and burned. A mixture of guilt and fear swell up inside of Circe. This is it then, he's going to kill her. 

"This is the ring I gave to my wife when I asked her to marry me." He stares as if he expects an illusion to shatter before his eyes. "She was buried with it."

He reaches for her face and Circe immediately flinches away. 

"I-" he coughs, his eyes watering. "Who are you?"

She doesn't speak. 

"I know I scared you," Elijah says as gently as he can manage with desperation lining his every word. "I know I hurt you, but I need to know who you are. I need to know if-"

Circe shuts her eyes and hugs herself. "I told you," she whispers. "My name is Circe. Circe Naomi Bennett."

Elijah Mikaelson is not a creature of impulse, but it takes all of his self control to keep from bringing the woman who stands in the corner into his arms. He does however enter her space with a sense of ownership, an ease, an intimacy Circe has never been faced with before. 

His hand lifts to brush a curl off her cheek and they travel down her cheekbone. Power radiates from him, unseen, unheard, altogether intangible yet present all the same. 

"You've returned to me." Elijah sucks in a breath that sounds like it hurts. "Is this real?"

How does she answer that? 

She's never been faced with so much adoration, as if she alone could change the entire world. It shakes through her, makes her eyes burn with tears. 

"I-" a sob catches her words. "I don't know," she answers honestly. "I don't know if I'm who you think I am. I-" she's tugging at her necklace in anxious aggression and Elijah's eyes follow the movement. 

"Shh," Elijah murmurs gently. "It's okay my love. It's okay. Just relax now."

"But-"

His eyes drop to her neck and a deep buried self-hatred burns in his eyes. "I will never forgive myself for this," Elijah said simply. Then he is lifting his wrist to his mouth and biting into his own flesh brutally causing blood to bubble up. "Drink."

Circe's eyes go wide. "That's not necessary."

"Drink."

"Really, I-"

"I hurt you, my flower. **_I_** hurt you. I need to take as much of that pain back as I can." He insisted, intensely. 

Oh. 

This wasn't just a mistake in Elijah's eyes, it was damn near a sin. He hurt the woman he swore to protect. He needed to heal her, to do something. 

She gently brings her lips to the wound and when blood barely finds it's way into her mouth, she sucks. It's not bad, it's just different. Odd, really. Almost immediately does the pain in her throat loosen and does her physical energy return to her. 

"Good girl," Elijah praised and despite herself Circe blushed. He strokes the side of her face, awed despite himself. 

Looking over his shoulder, she catches Rose and Trevor standing uncertainly. She forces a reassuring smile for their sake. 

She bites her lip, deliberating for a moment. "Elijah?"

(Even his name is beautiful- stretching over her tongue.)

His hands curl around her more firmly. "Mmm?"

"Would you-" she breaks off, makes a disparaging noise at herself for being so stupid about all of this, and then tries again. "Can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Anything, Circe." Elijah's voice is heavy and brimming with sincerity. "Whatever you want."

Circe had the feeling when Elijah said 'whatever' he really meant that, and that was all kinds of terrifying. 

"Can you free Trevor and-"

"Done," he leans towards her, his body crowding hers. 

Elijah's arms slide around Circe, solid and warm. God when was the last time someone held her? It feels so good Circe feels her throat get tight, she buries her face into Elijah's chest and just holds on. Circe has been alive for twenty years and until this moment, until Elijah Mikaelson pulls her into his arms, that's all she feels. Until this moment, she's been alive for twenty years, but shes never really _lived._

She feels more than sees, Trevor and Rose leave and suddenly it's just her and Elijah. 

"Thank you," she mumbles when she is sure her voice won't shake. 

Elijah nuzzles her hair, making small circles at the base of her neck with his thumbs. It's not possible for Circe to feel nothing else than bliss when Elijah is doing that. "Providing for you is no hardship for me."

This is not a casual hug, every inch of her body is pressed against Elijah, This hug should have turned uncomfortable for both of them a long time ago. That's what Circe's thinking when she feel his fingers toying lightly with her hair. Her eyes drift closed and she allows more of her weight to lie on Elijah. 

There's a moment when he shifts slightly, and Circe frowns. She doesn't want him to let go yet; she wants to feel _whatever this is_ for just a moment longer.

But he's not letting her go. He's rubbing her cheek lightly with his.

He's nuzzling Circe. 

Thinly, she wonders how he's doing this, creating this connection. It's nothing short of magic.

Tucking her head, she tilts her chin, trying to get closer to him somehow and at some point, he clutches tighter, almost crushing Circe to him. It takes a second for her to realize that there are lips on her neck. 

Elijah's lips are on her neck. 

Oh god.

All he would have to do at this moment is open his mouth slightly and he'd be kissing her skin.

Circe draws a shaky breath and hopes that Elijah thinks she's still crying and that it's not because of how aroused she are. But Circe hasn't been crying for a while now. It's been twenty minutes at least.

His mouth opens slightly; pressing a kiss to her neck. 

A low moan rumbles immediately in his ear, and he'd give everything he owned to hear it again. 

She tastes amazing. 

His hands are no longer toying with hair, they've dropped to either of her sides, gripping her body, and Circe feels like she's about to come apart and Elijah's barely touching her. 

She breathes one single word into Elijah's ear: "More."

The press of his lips is immediate and this time his tongue makes a small trail on her skin. 

God, she's wet and all he's doing is holding her and kissing her neck. This is the first time another person has solicited that reaction from her. 

Suddenly, she's overwhelmed with the desire to touch him everywhere.

All she can see, hear, _smell_ is him, and Circe is in overload.

"Okay," she whispers more than a little breathlessly, "maybe we _should_ talk."

That draws Elijah back, and he studies Circe's face. 

"Circe." His voice breaks over her name, even though it's only a whisper, and her eyes flutter.

"I don't want to hurt you," she says quietly, and the truth of that guts her. "You don't even know if it's me."

"Circe," he whispers again and this time it's like he's trying to wake her up. He smiles into her hair. God, he smells so _good._ It should be a crime for another person to smell this good.

"Even if I am some reincarnation, I'm not her, not really. I don't have her memories or her experiences and I don't- I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to make you think I...I don't want you to feel like I'm playing with you. I'm not- I'm scared, and I don't know what to do-"

His eyes are soft as if he is seeing something in her that is purely the other Circe. "I'm not disillusioned, my flower. I know what is before me."

His eyes drop to her mouth. 

He's moving so slowly, and Circe know what's going to happen. And even though she's watching Elijah lean into her, his eyes holding tight to her lips until they flutter closed at the last possible moment, there is really no preparation for what happens when she finally feel his lips against hers.

There was nothing before this moment and there will be nothing after.

It's sweet and slow and achingly tender. And then Elijah tilts his head just so and it's – _ah!_ – it's simply magical. Shes smiling into the kiss, being swept and taken away by the force of it. 

When he pulls gently away, Circe is completely stunned.

She feels like she's never been kissed before, _really_ kissed, and Elijah has just pulled her to him and kissed her into life. It's the single most exhilarating experience of her young existence, and she allows her eyes to flutter closed and sigh at the romance of it all.

Elijah laughs, and her eyes fly open, meeting with a warm gaze and a lovely smile. He looks...radiant.

He lifts her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles. Circe's breath catches at the sight; he looks for a moment like he positively adores her. 

"Come with me," he says and she doesn't think there is anyway she could do anything else. 

"I-" but earth and gravity and responsibility hits her in the stomach. Bonnie. She can't just go, Bonnie is probably already worried enough, Circe can't selfishly make that worse. "I have to go home."

He has her face in his hands. "Your home is with me." 

He means those words. Fully and utterly and it consumes her in the best of ways. 

"People need me."

Something dark awakens in his eyes, and it pins her, a part of her wants to cower because with how gentle Elijah was being with her she forgot how dangerous he could actually be. 

"People?" He drawls neutrally, but possessiveness is wild in his eyes. 

And Circe backtracks, "Just one person, really-"

That makes it worse. Harder, crueler. He looks ready to find this person and destroy them with his bare hands. His grip tightens, not painfully but they convey a simple message: You are mine. 

"Elijah," Circe soothes, moving her hand up to his face. God, his eyes are so dark. Ruthless, really. A true predator. "I kind of adopted a kid. Well, not adopted, but she's my cousin and she doesn't have anyone. Everyone has abandoned her and I can't do that to her. She needs me. She needs someone there to protect her. It's in Mystic Falls-"

The darkness recedes some and Circe is grateful she never really entertained any romantic relationships. 

She is sure Elijah wouldn't stand for that. 

"Don't go home," he holds her wrist in a grip that is gentle yet possessive. Immediately Circe opens her mouth to argue but falters at how intensely Elijah is staring at her. 

"Elijah, I-" 

Elijah runs his eyes over Circe's face, poised and unblinking. “Tonight,” he says softly. “Don’t go home, my flower.”

He takes a step closer and touches her waist in a way that makes her quiver. 

"Don't go home,” repeats Elijah in the same soft voice. “Come back with me tonight."

A beat of silence follows as they stare at one another; and Circe forgets about the surroundings – forgets about the creaking noises and the heat and the lateness of the hour – because suddenly nothing else seems relevant or worthy of attention beyond the piercing eyes that are currently boring into her own. She’s not really experienced enough to fully appreciate what the offer might mean; but intelligence and native instinct are considerable compensations for lack of worldliness, and she’s still fully aware that this is far more than a casual invitation. 

"And after tonight?"

"I'll go with you."

And that is...a complication in itself. 

Circe owes no loyalty to the doppelganger but Bonnie does. And if Elijah sees her....

"Tonight I'm yours," she hesitates and Elijah's eyes burn with heat. Unwittingly, her words implied something much more intimate. "I mean, to talk about everything. I, there are some things I need to tell you about Mystic Falls and my cousin and we should probably talk more about us..?" The last part sounds more like a question than an actual statement but Elijah takes it carefully. 

"Yes," Elijah agrees, and one second they are inside and the next right by a gleaming car. The sudden disorientation has her clutching onto Elijah and that seems to be exactly what he wants. 

He opens the car door for her and buckles her in, keeping his hands on her at all times as if he can't bear to do anything else.

Just as quickly Elijah is driving them away, his hand on her thigh and the other on the wheel. 

He's speeding but he's not reckless so Circe truly doesn't mind. 

She doesn't know when it happens, all she knows is she closes her eyes and suddenly she's so very tired. Exhausted really. 

As Elijah watches Circe get settled, moving until her head against the window and her body curls, then the girl let's out a quiet moan and her eyes scrunch up in this adorable way, and something in Elijah catches at the sight.

Circe's blinks are considerably slower and her mouth pouts slightly. He hears her start to hum to herself and it's a song the original doesn't recognize that she's decided to use as her own lullaby.

It's slow, and then it's just not.

Elijah notices the moment she slips into unconsciousness, because her lips part slightly, and her fingers unclench. Being asleep is such a vulnerable state, and the mere fact that Circe is able to do it in Elijah's presence warms him. 

She is a restless sleeper, but not a light one. She shifts and mutters and sometimes turns further into him, sometimes away. Her head migrates around and her eyes flicker under closed lids, her eyelashes slightly damp.

When she wakes up again it's because her side of the door is open, she feels Elijah unbuckle her seat belt and begins to try and get up when he shushes her. His arm goes beneath her thighs as he picks her up, her head falling into the crook of his neck. She's sleepy, but awake and she doubts she'll fall back asleep, although she does enjoy the steady way he holds her. 

He takes her into the house and she honestly has no idea what the outside even looks like, all she knows is Elijah bypasses everything to take her directly to the master bedroom. 

He gently places her on the bed and Circe let's out a quiet yawn. 

"I need to call my cousin," she murmurs quietly. Already reaching for the bag, Elijah thankfully brought up with them. "I need to let her know I won't be coming home tonight so she doesn't worry."

She yawns again, somewhere beneath her tiredness she expects Elijah to walk away, to give her privacy. 

He doesn't. 

In fact he sits down on the bed and pulls her into his lap. His hand squeezing around her thigh, causing her breath to catch.

Bonnie answers almost immediately. " _Circe, are you okay?"_

" _I'm fine_ ," Circe murmurs warmly, smiling at her phone. " _I just needed some time to gather myself after- my sister and I don't have the best relationship_."

And doesn't that just make her sleep induced haziness evaporate. 

Bonnie makes a sympathetic noise. "What did she even say?"

At this Circe laughs a broken sound that wheezes and Elijah holds her tighter. Presses a kiss to her neck. 

" _Not much, she just knows all the weak spots,"_ Circe swallows a breath. " _Either way I wanted to call to let you know I won't be coming home tonight."_

Bonnie is silent for a moment, considering. 

" _Okay,"_ she finally says. _"You'll tell me everything later right? Like what she said to shake you so badly?"_

 _"Yes B,"_ Circe says openly. _"I'll tell you everything."_

They say there good nights and when she hangs up the phone she is more awake than she ever has been before. 

It's just him and her. 

Just Elijah and Circe. 

Circe and Elijah. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit, continue at your own risk

"Thank you," Circe said softly. The room is dark and her fingers won't stop twisting together. She didn't feel uncomfortable with the original, but out of nowhere a strange nervousness has grasped at her, making the air around her seem out of place. More transparent and with a clarity that she felt trapped in.

"For what?"

Her voice was weak and creaky when she spoke again. "You've been more than accommodating to me. You," she looks into his eyes. "You aren't mad at me."

The mere idea felt like barbed wire piercing through her lungs. 

"Now why would I be mad at you?" He sounds amused as he says it. As if him being upset with her is outrageous. 

Elijah grasped her hand, and her fingers tingled where they touched. She was reminded of South American dart frogs, known for secreting poison from their skin, because it seemed as though Elijah's touch was toxic. It always left her breathless and dizzy, and she felt as if she would fall the moment he let go.

"I don't remember," she says mournfully. At Elijah's continued silence, she rushed to explain herself. "You must be severely **_disappointed._** " 

The Mikaelson just looked at her with a painfully blank face, drawing her eyes to his once again.

"I'm not upset nor disappointed with you, my flower," Elijah sighs a soft sound. "It is outside of your control. I am not the same man I was then, I've done things. Things that have changed me, just as you are not the same."

"Then," she hesitates. "Then what does that make me to you?"

His hand darted forward cupping her cheek, his thumb soothing over her bottom lip with her mouth parting just so at his touch. The original took a breath to answer, but Circe cut him off. "And don't tell me it's whatever I want it to be."

Elijah is silent. Patient. 

"What do you want from me?" She asked in a small voice. "And Elijah I know that you understand plenty of women would give anything to be with you, could do-" she gestured wildly between Elijah and herself, "-this better than I can."

Sorrow touched the corners of Elijah's dark eyes and he looked away. Something knowing and distantly sad in the reach of his gaze. "You insult me, Circe."

"I don't mean to. I just don't know what you want."

 _For you to love me_ , flew quickly to Elijah's tongue, but he hesitated on speaking such words.

"I don't think you're ready to hear that, quite yet."

"I am," she immediately responds. "I am."

The intensity in his eyes made her falter for a second. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, the fine cloth around the buttonhole uncharacteristically wrinkled. That is where she laid on his chest, a blush covers her cheeks.

"I don't want to scare you with the depth of my affections."

"You're tiptoeing."

"Should I be more blunt, then?"

"Please."

Elijah took a breath. "I think of you as my wife. I desire your company in any extent you wish to share it, and abhor the idea of causing your strife. I doubt there is anything you could ask me that I would refuse." 

_Oh._

Elijah kisses her and the world melted away because finally...finally after all these years of feeling misplaced, shaken, wrong, she finally feels safe. His hands roam freely over her body, possessively and she conforms to his probing touch.

"I am under no illusion that a relationship can just spring up between us," he winces a little at that as if he wants that more than anything, "but I do want you, Circe. I will make no effort to disguise that."

Elijah is staring at her and for the first time she sees his fear. 

He's worried she won't want him. 

"I want this Elijah." Circe whispered against his lips. "I do." 

Elijah makes a sound so low it was more of a vibration. Predatory, powerful, relishing the delicious submission offered willingly by someone glorious. 

"Those words," Elijah murmured, watching Circe's throat as she swallowed. "Will you listen?"

 _Will you obey me? Bend to me? Submit_.

"Will you?" She replied.

Elijah's delight was palpable. He drew his knuckles up again, moving higher, skimming Circe's pulse with his thumb.

"My flower," he would train her to associate his touch with her pleasure. "Your voice is the last thing I want to take from you." He wants to hear that lovely voice.

Hear it pull tight and tremble.

"A relationship without balance is destruction," he breathed drawing his nose against her, looking straight at her. Amused. Curious. "I want your honesty and loyalty. I will give you mine. You want my everything. You'll have it."

"And the rest?"

"Given as it comes."

Circe swallowed again, allowed the words to settle against her, gave herself a moment to think.

Honesty. 

"I have to tell you something," she murmurs. "To be honest with you, there's something I need to say."

He doesn't tense or pull away but something guarded darkens his eyes. Prepared if Circe chooses to say something cruel. She shifts closer, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself on his lap. 

"Katherine Pierce's human doppelganger is in Mystic Falls."

Silence. 

When Elijah doesn't say anything for a long time Circe begins to feel as though she ruined everything. 

"Elijah?"

He doesn't say anything. His eyes are focused on a spot behind her left shoulder. 

"Elijah please say something, I don't know if I did something wrong-"

He's kissing her silent. She makes a sound beneath it and he crushes that quiet as well. Sucking at her bottom lip, he let's his tongue trail against it before entering her mouth. She immediately arches against him, her hands finding their way to his hair. And when he pulls back she whimpers. 

"You need to stop thinking that everything you're doing is wrong," Elijah says bluntly. 

“I don’t know how to proceed,” Circe said with a sigh, nuzzling just slightly against him. 

Elijah took a deep breath, so she could feel him relax. “There is no right or wrong way. You must know that I will not judge you for your desires or trepidations.” His voice is a mere whisper when he speaks again. "What is the issue here, sweetness?" he asks, thumbs now stroking over the tender underbelly of Circe's wrists, where her blood flows through delicate veins, only an impossibly thin layer of skin separating them from his touch.

"Issue," Circe says, scoffing and rolling her eyes, "This isn't small, Elijah." Elijah merely stares at her, expression placid and patient as ever, eyes warm. "We've only known each other for a handful of hours," she says weakly, "This is...all of this is—"

"Madness, yes," Elijah finishes for her, his lips turning up at the corners in a smile, "That is something we can both agree on, I believe."

"Elijah-"

"You seem to be unaccustomed to being taken care of, but I implore you to allow me to do this."

She falls into silence.

Physically, Elijah could devote whole books of poems to the subject of Circe's hands, the youthful way her curls frame her face, the gentle red of her tempting lips, the circumference of Circe's hips and thighs, what she will taste like. What it would feel like to be inside of her, either between those soft lips or between those thighs Elijah so adores.

He growls unable to hold back his need. "I need you, my flower."

She meets his eyes and just...knows. She will not be able to leave this room without being fundamentally changed. After tonight she will be Elijah's. And that should terrify her. But all it does is keep her warm.

And then one of the most selfish thing he ever said slipped out of his mouth, so very easily.

"I've never needed anyone the way I need you."

He looked at her now, eyes fluttering in surprise, lips parted, and cheeks rosy. Elijah nursed the cluster of uneasy sensations that balled in his chest, and reluctantly looked away from the curl-laden sunshine.

It was difficult, looking away.

"You...you mean that," Her voice was filled with wonder and surprise.

Without any indication he intended to do so Elijah pulls Circe to him by the swell of her ass. It's ownership, casual and complete, and maybe she would hate it on any other day, but Elijah is so intriguing. His behavior, both wild and controlled, feral and restrained.

And then he hummed, his touch gliding over the more curious part of Circe's body that he could reach. Nipples budded and hardened under his fingertips' explorations.

They end up sprawled against the bed. 

Circe warm and unbuttoned like a gift, and Elijah tucked over her, nosing into the sharp curve behind her ear. He snuffles there, scenting, testing the skin with soft licks.

Elijah draws his nose down the line of Circe's neck, sets his teeth on the curve of her neck, and holds. He doesn't bite down, but he could. He could.

She swallows, feeling the delicate skin of her throat rolling up against Elijah's tongue.

When she shifts her hips, she can feel the hardness of Elijah's cock. The contact makes him exhale harshly. He presses Circe into the bed and ruts against her, once, twice, hard enough to jolt her slightly up. Her mouth falls open as warmth and wetness pool between her thighs.

"Elijah," she moans around his name.

She felt his hands glide firmly down her curves to dip under her dress, bunching the fabric and trying to urge it over her hips.

Leaning her weight on her knees, she lifted up to assist him and her lips tickled as he chuckled softly against her mouth; his hands were already gripping her bare ass and he was clearly amused to have found she wasn't wearing anything under her ridiculously formfitting dress.

Circe squirmed against him, breath escaping her in short gasps and little moans that made the Original above her hum with pleasure.

The intensity shakes her.

Being under his sole focus is a lot of pressure. She's suddenly a fragile and delicate thing that could break so easily.

"Elijah wait-"

He pulls back some, but not much, enough so she knows he's listening. 

She falters at the sudden intimacy between them. The original offers a small, enigmatic smile that makes his eyes crinkle; dark with secret promise. 

"Is something wrong?" He asks carefully, keeping his eyes locked with hers. 

No. 

Everything is right. 

Too right. 

She lets her eyes roam over the man's striking features to ground herself in the moment; high carved cheekbones, glowing almost silver in the soft light, hair sleek and tidy and dark. Circe feels the urge, suddenly, to mess it up, to dishevel his flawless clothes and see him moan and curse; to pull apart every put together inch.

"This isn't just sex?" She asks carefully, nervousness making her voice shake. 

"You must not understand how much power you have over me if that is a question." His smile is wry. Then he pauses for a moment to trail his gaze down over Circe's body - there's something casually predatory in it, animalistic in a way that makes her skin prickle with anticipation. "I would let you reduce me to a fool. Welcome it in fact if it means I get to keep you." He sighs. "Look at my beautiful wife. A vision."

The following touch is exploratory yet worshipful, paying careful attention to each plane of bone and curve of muscle, and the way his hand dips lower each time makes her quiver and arch her back while unwittingly letting her legs fall further apart.

"It's all right," says Elijah softly. "I need to go slowly with you don't I?"

"I've never done this before."

That causes Elijah to freeze. "Never?"

She looks away. "Never," she confirms. 

When she looks back over at him he seems wildly possessive. "I was the only man you ever knew back then," He kisses her hard. "It's only fitting it be this way now."

Her breath hitches and Elijah leans in even closer, blatantly smelling her skin from jaw to collarbone in what's an another unmistakable gesture of ownership. 

"Oh God," Circe says in a faint voice.

"No," replies Elijah sardonically," just me." Brushing his face against Circe's with the lightest possible kisses that Elijah deliberately keeps to her jawline in order that her mouth can remain undisturbed to continue making its rather enticing gasping sounds.

"I won't senselessly fuck you," Elijah whispers into her ear, brutal and harsh. "We deserve more than that. **Will you let me take care of you?** "

She can't speak. Can't even breathe.

"Hmm, what's that?" he asked, tilting his head, as if attempting to hear her more properly. A cruel little smile flitted across his lips, and his fingers constricted further, ever so slightly around her neck. "No?"

He was careful, though. Oddly, even in her state, some detached part of her mind noticed that his hold had not tightened anywhere near dangerously. Not at all like before. 

"Look at me," he ordered, crisply.

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared up into the brown of his own. Nothing was said; he merely watched her, letting her feel the presence of his hand at her neck, the weight of his control. She had always felt powerless around him, but never had it been so stark - she could not move or speak unless he so willed, and one little twist of his fingers could bring about a world of pain. No doubt it was his intention to force this understanding, but realization of it did not lessen its effects.

"Yes, Elijah." 

Too quickly for her to accurately understand she is left completely naked.

The whole thing, in her perspective is entirely unfair. Here she was, completely naked, and there he was wholly covered.

One of his hands - rough and coarse, strong from swordplay and riding - settled about her ankle almost idly, but as she moved to draw her knees together, he made a teasing "tsk" noise and pulled her legs yet further apart - splaying her wide, so that her body took on a perverse shape.

This prompted a little gasp from her, but it was nothing compared to his next trespass: he allowed his fingers to ghost up her leg, trickling up and up past her thigh, and then down again, this time massaging and kneading as he went.

"Just stay open like this for a few moments," he adds. "I would like to look at you – you are so lovely."

Her body is betraying her. Or no, maybe it's not betrayal.

Maybe it's more like complicity.

She watched helplessly as he lowered his mouth then, trailing kisses along a similar path, and shivered as he lingered at that erogenous area at the back of her knee.

"This isn't enough," she instructed plainly, anxiously, to the happy ceiling. The words flowed uneasily, often disjointing and taking shuddering breaks each time his mouth discovered a particularly sensitive nerve. "More -"

"I'm taking my time." He withdrew, only to lazily pull off his buttoned down shirt. In the lowlight of the room, his muscles appeared more defined, and his lean strength more evident - the sight almost made her breath catch.

Abruptly engulfed by a frenzied playfulness, Circe slipped away from reach on the other side of the bed.

Forcing him to chase her.

She heard him laughing. "Circe, Circe, Circe," he chided, each inflection more patronizing than the last, as she heard him slip from the bed. "What am I going to do with you?"

His hand went to her ankle and with one tug she was pulled back into her original position, so easily. The difference in strength between them nearly laughable.

"If you give me reason, I will have to tie you down," Elijah told her.

Taking her hand - that soft, unblemished thing - he brushed his lips over her knuckles, in an imitation of a chaste greeting, his smile widening mischievously again as his attentions deepened.

He brought each finger to his lips, suckling slowly and enticingly; his eyes were on her at all times, watching for a reaction or weakness to exploit, and lingering where she was most affected.

This treatment stirred no noteworthy response by its own. It was her hand. All the intimate suckling in the world would have done nothing, were it not for all these... other things. It was the sight of Elijah delivering these (spitefully) tender affections, his closeness, the warmth of his own bare skin, and all those annoying well-sculpted things about him which rendered aloofness for even the most ludicrous gestures all but impossible. He was drawing it out on purpose; he had to be, for all the uncontrollable segments in her brain craving against the lot to sink into the feel of him.

And he was still talking, in that leisurely way of his. "Or perhaps rope would only...excite you further?" he voiced, smirking against her skin.

She can't answer. 

"I've been told there's a certain thrill that comes with restraint." He kissed down, past her wrist. "That feeling of absolute vulnerability." His gaze remained on her, his lips traveling still further, past the crook of her elbow. "And the knowledge that another has such power over you as to take you for his pleasure...however he wishes."

But of course, his mouth was at her neck once more, and now he was leaving tender bites all across her flesh, her skin caught between the wicked contours of his teeth.

"You'll leave a mark," Circe cried out between barely suppressed whimpers.

"Good," was the mischievous answer.

He nosed down, still taking all the time in the world, the stubble on his chin offering a tickling scratch; his hand reclaimed her wrists (feebly struggling), pinning them above her head, so that her breasts - pert and slightly red with flush - were fully exposed for his viewing.

"Hmm," he said, with a mocking look of appraisal. He let his fingers trail over one breast and then the other, caressing them with the same slow, deliberate attention, and ending with a playful squeeze (and unabashed grin, when she inhaled sharply).

He certainly took notice of how she squirmed and writhed beneath him, enough to prompt a self-satisfied smile. "I do believe you're becoming even more impatient, My love." He lowered his mouth to her breasts, replacing the ministrations of his hands, so that his breath fell hot against her skin. "There's no need to hide your desire. It's perfectly natural."

Even his taunts did not dampen the pleasurable swirling of his tongue.

"I'm not -" She was cut off, as his teeth clamped lightly over her nipple, tugging on it enough to elicit a threshold of pain - and further stimulation.

"Fuck!" She curses with a heavy moan. 

Placing his hands upon her thighs, he pushed, spreading them wide again, so that it gave him complete and utter access to her womanhood. And before she knew what he was doing, he extended two fingers between her legs, slipping easing through her moistened folds. Jolted by the intrusion, she squirmed and made a frantic mewling noise, but he had already withdrawn then, his eye upon the telltale lubricant now staining his hand - his expression devilishly triumphant. "Ah the feeling is mutual, my flower."

Then she's being caressed once more – the cool tips of Elijah's fingers moving back and forwards in delicate strokes – and is embarrassed all over again by the way she can feel the tightness of the muscle eagerly yielding to such gentle yet firmly persistent exploration. Then Elijah is murmuring "Oh yes, that's it; that's perfect."

And everything under his touch is so wet and soft. Slippery and slick-smooth, before withdrawing entirely and being replaced by a finger, and then two, which rub in exquisitely deliberate circles. The stretch is pleasureable, and she can feel her whole body clench.

"Oh, Elijah," her voice is breathy and nearly a moan.

"No, don't close your eyes," adds Elijah, soft but firm. "Keep them open. I want you to watch while I'm doing this."

He pushes his fingers in deeper, twisting them inside of her expertly, making her hips jerk.

A lovely, fretful noise from deep in her throat and Elijah can't help but smile at the sound of it.

He gently removes his fingers, forcing her legs wider apart, and this time lowered his mouth. He kissed along her sex, his stubble more ticklish than ever, and she keenly felt the new encroachment of every touch; he went ever deeper, undeterred by her squirms, and she stilled as he reached the opening of her lips.

Then she inhaled sharply, abruptly confronted by his tongue pushing into her, and of the butterfly sensations building over one another, into something more sinister. Her breathing took on a strange, shallow cadence, drawing a slight yet infuriatingly anticipatory burning from her lower stomach

His tongue was inside her, warm and wet against her walls, and there was nothing she could do to stop the cruel pleasures it was inflicting. Her hips bucked again, and Elijah had to force her back down on the bed, restraining her.

"No. Don't you dare close your eyes." He ordered, lips wet with Circe. "You will sit there and watch me properly worship you." When he draws back to speak, he looks faintly savage; teeth bared, black pupils ringed with fiery amber.

Her hands claw at Elijah's biceps, Hot whips of want lash at her skin; she wants to own him. 

She wants everything. 

How could anyone sustain such pleasure?

She's being sucked and lapped at as if she's something delectable; the way the touch is alternating between languorous flat strokes and more deliberate spearing thrusts; and how Elijah's hands are running up and down her thighs and forcing her legs wide open, then licking past her most intimate part until Circe is so wet – so very wet; soaking in fact, wet everywhere– and now she's being fingered open again, and is powerless to stop herself rocking forwards to try and get more.

Her thighs are clamping around his head now, trembling and jerking sporadically.

She squeaks a little and continues to make noise above Elijah calling out his name in her caramel voice, and it, all of it, is a feast for him.

She looks achingly beautiful like this: all muscles swaying and flexing, and the way the sheen of perspiration makes her brown skin glow like gold. 

She's extremely close now – Elijah can tell from the way her body is quivering and tightening, preparing itself for orgasm – and with his fingers buried so deep inside, right to the knuckle, he can feel every single tremor and clench. It's as if Circe's trying to grip onto him; and in turn the feeling ofthatleads to the inevitable awareness of how those muscles would feel tightening onto his dick if it were sunk deep inside his wife's beautiful body and she was about to come round it; and the idea is so intoxicating it requires every shred of his iron self-control not to simply spread Circe wide open with both hands and fuck her into the mattress then and there. Instead he watches, with an entirely unfamiliar sense of tenderness, as Circe gasps and rocks her hips backwards.

 _There you go my little darling_ , he thinks, _you're so close now aren't you? So much pleasure; and so overwhelmed by it. You can't quite understand how it can possibly feel so good._

"My poor Circe," he said, with not the remotest note of sincerity. "Do not worry. I will grant you your relief."

His hand moved to his pants, tugging it from his form and letting it join the rest of the discarded clothes at the bed's feet. Though she tried not to look, her eyes fixed on the jutting cock that was revealed. His member stood of substantial size and thickness.

Was that supposed to fit inside her? 

"Uh-" she said with her eyebrows raised. 

"Yes darling," he purred, smug. 

She feels a rush of annoyance at the arrogance. (I mean sure he had every reason to be, but it's the principle of the matter). A smirk curves on her lips, she wonders if she can break him with her mouth as easily as he broke her. 

With little to no hesitance, Cicre twisted herself off her back and onto her knees. Leaning forward in front of the standing man, and taking a long swipe of her tongue up Elijah's erection. 

His body shudders, "My love you don't have to-"

"I want to," she murmurs back quietly. Catching his eyes as she leans forward and laps at the head of his cock playfully. 

Circe is slow to start, at first, tongue running indulgently up the length of him before finally, finally, taking Elijah into her mouth. His hips jerk involuntarily, and the sound he let's out is soft with relief. Fingers find their way to Circe's hair, immediately flexing and spreading, until Elijah is cradling Circe's skull more than anything. 

The better to feel himself moving in Circe's mouth. 

She sinks further down, lips stretched tight and forming a suction that make him shudder.

She's uncoordinated and Elijah can sense her inexperience, but that doesn't stop her from swallowing him down as best she can until Elijah hits the back of her throat. 

He feels her gag, and the spasm of her throat is truly a novel sensation.

Elijah pulls back just a little when reflexive tears spill from her glowing hazel eyes. 

"You could ruin me in every capacity," _She already did, Elijah thinks idly. He thinks of all the blood that rained down from the skies because of him. Of how many people he tore through in his grief._ He pulls himself out of her mouth, he needs to be inside. He needs to be buried so deep he never has to worry about losing her again. 

Her squirming body was kept pinned by his hands as he moved over her. 

"Lijah," Circe whines. 

And slowly, he entered, pressing into her more and more; she felt every inch, felt herself stretching around him, felt her eyes drawing shut against the starbursts of pain. And just when she thought that every crevice inside of her was filled, that she could not possibly imagine the slightest more invasion - he pushed further yet, and she gasped as she felt the pressure of it, forced to give even greater way to his rigid length.

With the same agonizing slowness, he began withdrawing, and she felt herself clench and unclench about him, letting loose a long exhale as she felt a sudden, relieving (in only some ways) emptiness in his wake. But then she felt his head brush against her lips again.

The penetration was faster the second time.

She stiffened as he once more sheathed himself, and she felt the full violation of his member filling her utterly once more, leaving no part of her virtuous.

He began thrusting now, his cock impaling her with slowly building rhythm, taking what pleasure he wanted from her body as she lay helpless and writhing beneath him.

Her arms shifted of their own accord, hands blindly seeking purchase so as to save herself from being lost as he pounded into her.

Circe liked to keep her nails cut and trim, but even so she managed to find a way to imprint tiny white crescents in groups of four over his back.

"Oh God," Elijah blasphemes. And She whines his name, breathily. 

And then she is clenching down and he is shuddering.

_She is magic._

_She is everything._

His motions were giving way to an entrancing friction - it was so very warm, the wetness flushing her with almost as much heat as the one he was building in her core.

There was no escaping his ravishment - he was too strong, his attentions too intoxicating.

Writhe as she would, his hands lay claim over her body, imprisoning her for his taking. But she did pulse and gasp in his arms, her hips bucking and her back arched, reacting to all the passions lancing through her body.

"Mine."

And then, Circe feels the gentle, wet rasp of his tongue, and a quiet, surprised moan is shaken free from her at the sensation as soon as Elijah's fangs dig into her flesh.

"Fuck," Circe cries out as those long, sharp fangs pierce her skin, slicing clean and deep into the flesh at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

It hurts, god it fucking hurts, but only for a second, because then Elijah's lips seal around the wound he made and he sucks, and she suddenly feels like she's melting.

Elijah makes a broken sound as he gulps his first mouthful of Circe's blood, a wet, ragged snarl that she can feel down to her bones, liquid as she is. The coolness of Elijah's skin against hers contrasts with how hot his mouth feels against her throat, and each draw he takes feels like it's being pulled from the core of her, each time Elijah's throat works in a swallow, like it's filling him up with something molten and bright that settles in his belly and begs for release.

She swears she can feel it, even just a drop of her power mingling with the magic that animates Elijah, and her breath goes ragged, her fingers tightening in Elijah's hair to a point that must be painful. It's too much, it's too much, this connection.

He still keeps his punishing rythm as he feasts on her blood.

Blood-black eyes are open again and on her, dark and fathomless as the deepest depths of any ocean, and Circe hears herself rasp out in a voice that sounds nothing like her own to her own ears, "Elijah."

Elijah nods, just a bare twitch of his chin. He feels it too.

Lovely Circe.

Terrible Cicre. Possessiveness makes him curl his hands in her hair, cruel and demanding.

And then it happens the heat that's been building and building explodes, and she is screaming and begging and pleading and Elijah gives no quarter. His fast pace increasing, as she tightens around him.

And the world fades in it's entirety, because all that matters is how complete she feels, how full, how loved.

It seems to last for a while and Circe cries out over and over again as each wave hits, as if her small body can't quite manage the intensity of coming so hard and for so long; and Elijah vows to himself that every time they have sex from this moment forward he will bring Circe the most amount of pleasure he can possibly manage. Nevertheless he doesn't think he's ever seen anything quite so exquisite in his entire life. 

He soon follows releasing inside of her in hot, wet pulses.

Circe moans again at the sensation then slumps down onto the bed, trembling so badly that Elijah's medical instincts can't help but be alerted to it – and would probably be somewhat troubled if he wasn't astute enough to realise it's largely emotional overwhelm that's responsible rather than physical indisposition.

For the rest of the night it's truly almost artful- in the way he swept her toward climax. 

Her lithe body bucked as she gasped into his lips. "It's not fair," she murmured against him, "not fair at all."

A smirk crossed his face at this allegation, for even her half-hearted resistance appeared to satisfy him. "I don't play fair, my better half."

That was before the inexorable pleasure swept over her again, seeming to rob her of both thought and breath. For a few moments, the world was reduced only to physical sensation - the heavy caresses of his hands, the doting touch of his lips, the relentless thrusts of his cock into her tight sex. Unearthly warmth flooded through her, expanding all the way to her fingers and toes, as she clung to him and desperately willed for him to never stop.

* * *

Sunlight, bright and beautiful, spills through the room.

Circe can't quite place its source, just that it exists. She can feel it, even though she hasn't yet bothered to open her eyes; can see it through her heavy lids, a bright, golden hue.

She knows it bathes her, knows instinctively she's wearing the sunlight and nothing else. It's a cool caress, but Cicre is warm, awash with comfort, with belonging, with safety the likes of which she has never known.

She shivers when she feels cool fingertips settle at the nape of her neck, then trace the long curve of her throat up to the point of her shoulder. They barely make contact, just enough to raise goosebumps in their wake as they continue on down her arm, and Cicre smiles contentedly, burrowing down into the soft, cool pillow under her cheek with a sigh.

"You're awake."

Circe feels herself smiling wider at the voice, rough and grumbly and fond, accent thicker than what she's become accustomed to hearing.

The fingers touching her pull away from her arm and settle instead against her side, in the curve of her hip. They tighten there and tug, and she goes without argument, finally opening her eyes as she turns over to her other side, facing the source of the purring voice.

Elijah smiles sweetly at her as she settles, and she drinks him in greedily; the way the dark silky sheets make his pale skin glow, the way his hair—normally so irritatingly perfect—lies across his brow in a lazy spill.

He looks less severe this way, softer without his usual suit of armor, and Circe marvels at it, the lines around his face gentled but for the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she longs to feel beneath her fingertips.

The man before her is as bare as she is.

"I don't want to get up," she whines quietly. 

And hears Elijah huff a laugh in response. "Neither do I."

He reaches out without thought, without hesitation, crossing the minute chasm between them to press his palm against Circe's chest, above her heart.

He closes his eyes, feels the swell of her breast and the lingering vibration beneath his fingers as Circe makes a soft, pleased sound, and covers Elijah's hand with her own. 

She places her hand on his chest, above his heart.

Even when she registers that there is no heart beating under her hand, she doesn't feel any different. 

"I feel like I am either drowning or burning," Cicre admitted. "That's what I've felt, ever since I met you."

"Yes, exactly," Elijah agreed pleasantly. "It's quite unlike anything else. I do believe we were always meant to find each other."

"I don't believe in fate."

"What is fate but a word to describe the place we end up?" Elijah replied. "Whether you think it was destined or not, every choice we have made in our lives has lead us both here."

A lifetime flashed behind his tightly shut eyelids. A lifetime of hunts, of sex under blood-soaked moonlight, of nights spent sharing meals, of laughter. He had never found another like her and he didn't imagine he would. 

Her stomach growls and Elijah chuckles at the sound. 

Circe stares up at him with adorably big eyes. "Will you make me French toast?" and her voice gives away her exhaustion, all plagued with sleep and grogginess. 

Elijah brings a hand to Circe's curls, pulling them from her forehead gently. 

"Fulfilling your desires would bring me nothing but pure contentment." He replies softly.

"So - yes?" He feels Circe's fingers still on his forearms. 

"Yes, Circe." 


End file.
